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THREE:The sunset guttered like spent candles in the wind��the rest of the sky was grey, like the fields under it. The distant bleating of sheep came through the dropping swale, as Reuben climbed the Moor. His men were still at work on the new ground, and he made a solemn tour of inspection. They were cutting down the firs and had entirely cleared away the gorse, piling it into a huge bonfire. All that remained of Boarzell's golden crown was a pillar of smoke, punctured by spurts and sparks of flame, rising up against the clouds. The wind carried the smell away to Socknersh and Burntbarns, and the farm-men there looked up from their work to watch the glare of Boarzell's funeral pyre.

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THREE:"But why should that m?ake f?ather angry wud you?""Unaccountable good."

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introduction

THREE:She ran out of the house. Away on Boarzell a man plodded and stumbled. She saw him stagger as the wind battered him, reel and nearly fall among the treacheries of the dead heather. He was like a drunken man, and she knew that he was drunk with shame.The idea of the following tale was suggested on reading the first volume of Robertson's Charles the Fifth, on the Feudal Policy of Germany; and the picture of moral and political debasement presented in those pages, whether as regards the oppressor or the oppressed. Those revolting distinctions have, however, passed away��villein is but a thing that was. But if the old chronicles are to be credited, the monk, whom the author has endeavoured to pourtray in the course of this tale, was the first who whispered in the ear of an English serf, that slavery was not his birthright.

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FORE:

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FORE:Chapter 12

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FORE:"Your importunity," continued the abbot, "has cast this indignity on holy church, and on me its minister; but nevertheless, this lord, powerful though he be, must be taught obedience to that power he has contemned."

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THREE:The steward clapped his hands, and immediately the bows of a hundred archers stationed around, were unbent, and he addressed Oakley as follows:During those days he spent most of his time digging on Boarzell. It relieved him to thrust viciously into the red dripping clay, turn in on his spade, and fling it back over his shoulder. It was strange that so few men realised that work was better than women��stranger still that they did not realise how much better than a woman's beauty was the beauty of the earth. Toiling there on the Moor, Reuben's heart gave itself more utterly to its allegiance. The curves of Boarzell against the sky, its tuft of firs, its hummocked slopes, its wet life-smelling[Pg 357] earth, even its savagery of heather, gorse, and thorn brought healing to his heart, and strength. Caro and other women could do what they chose, love, hate, follow, cheat, and betray whom they chose, as long as they left him the red earth and the labour of his hands.

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